It’s getting spooky around here!
Let’s do the Time Warp again (I’m just warming up) real fast. Fresh off sniffing some of the finest bourbons in the land last Friday I was finally able to secure the heir to the Skipah’s Realm kingdom who also happens to be my daughter. With more pleasantries exchanged than a North Korea-South Korea peace accords, my dear Sloane was safe and sound with her dad off to recreate some Halloween weekend magic!
Not even the thrill of seeing dad could rip her away from a Little House on the Prairie book.
Here in the great state of Indiana (unless you actually get along) in the even-numbered years, Halloween is celebrated with the female contributor to your child(rens) birth. So ole dad had to make the most of his short-lived pre-Halloween weekend carving pumpkins, dressing up like an extra from a Thriller video (or Michael Jackson himself-early 80s version of course), and just having an overall great time with my daughter that I hadn’t seen since September 30th. That made it roughly 24 days since the last time I had custody of her. Yeah not fair, write your local state representative and tell them to do something about it. You have a better chance of seeing the Rolling Stones play “Sympathy For the Devil” live at your local fall festival this autumn than getting legislation passed that prevents these shenanigans.
Once we arrived back at the Madison, Indiana hacienda it was time to break out my 18th-century medieval torture kit affectionately known as my “Pumpkin Carving Kit” as I had to successfully make Turtle Man, Miss Madison Jr., and Sloane some happy campers with my amateur like pumpkin carving skills. The girls this year must have heard me complaining about them not offering workman’s comp last year for carpel tunnel syndrome so they took it easy on me and wanted to design and carve out their own pumpkins. My pride was shaken, but my good wrist slapped me in the head and said: “Shut Up!” I’ve always been one to listen to my wrists so I went on to singing to The Monster Mash and dodging the zillion pumpkin seeds the girls were slinging at me to stop my Grammy-winning performance.
Sloane wasn’t digging cleaning out her pumpkin!
Sloane insisted on glitter for hers, on an unrelated note, it still looks like we had some kind of glitter bomb go off in here.
Saturday rolled around and we were all stoked for the Kentuckiana area Halloween Party of the Century we had been invited to. Miss Madison and I went as identity thieves, Sloane insisted she wasn’t a cowgirl but more like a horse thief (I really need to have her around me more, this life of crime is troubling at her age), the Turtle Man wanted to go as a knight in shining armor, and Miss Madison Jr. was some alien being known as Mal. You have to be a Disney Descendants fan to know who Mal is, I’m not so I had no idea so don’t feel alone stranger in the back of the crowd. All I could think of was General Mao and wouldn’t quit singing the Beatles song Revolution every time I heard the name said. Again, if you haven’t figured this out yet I’m a little dense at times.
She is currently wanted from the local Cattleman’s Society.
The party was just like you would expect, two billion kids running around in costumes on sugar highs. Oh, wait I just got the official attendance emailed me to me, I might be a little high in my kid estimates it was more in the 20-30 range. Any parent knows more than five kids at one time is similar to standing next to an airplane that is taking off so 20, 30, two billion is there really a difference? To quote Alice Cooper “Welcome To My Nightmare!” Actually, the party was so good they could have sold tickets. We had some mutant Dracula moonlighting as a D.J. when he wasn’t sucking the life out of unsuspecting guests, or maybe it was just his music that had us all over 30 years of age yawning. I only kid, he kept the party hopping late into the evening.
Unfortunately for Sloane, she is beyond screwed with her genetical composition when it comes to trivial things like dancing to anything that requires a beat. When Ray Parker Jr. is asking “Who you gonna call…Ghostbusters” I’m reaching for a telephone. Anytime I’m out on the dance floor doing anything but the standard “box” dance you can bet your ass I always feel like “Somebody’s Watching Me!” What’s that Peter at the pink lemonade bar? Too much 80s reference, bite me I was born in 1976! I can’t help you are married to a Black Magic Woman, meet me after the party and I’ll give you some pointers!
Luckily for Sloane, Miss Madison graduated Magna Cum Laude from the Paula Abdul school of dance composition. While I was running down a lead about a possible werewolf at the party with a Chinese menu in his hand, Miss Madison and Sloane were cutting a rug like a Dancing With The Stars audition. She literally was smiling ear to ear, and I finally found that freaking “Werewolf of London” that crashed our party. All kidding aside (and I say this way too much, but it is true) seeing Sloane have this much fun always tugs at the heartstrings.
No pictures of me because I literally dance like a white boy!
We all got a few slow dances in with each other before the night was over I might have even told the story to everyone of how “Devil Went Down to Georgia“, but I made sure all audio/photography devices were confiscated before that took place! I hated to see Sloane go last Sunday evening but once again I made sure to make the weekend as memorable as possible and I’m pretty sure I achieved that.
About it for now, those damn pesky Cub fans are chirping a little too loudly on Facebook after winning a World Series game for the first time since either presidential candidate was born. International reader believe me neither of them are exactly what you would define as young either. So it’s time to message Steve Bartman and see if I can get him to the game tonight for some more Halloween hijinks! Facebook, Twitter, me, hell the whole damn internet will melt down if these little bears win the World Series!